Growing Up a Desi Girl: What It Means to Be Between Two Worlds

It's a balancing act.

When I'm presented with a "Where are you from?" I usually run through this multiple-choice quiz in my head:

Should I…

a. Say that I'm American and be prodded to admit where I'm really from, as though being born on native soil isn't enough of a token of my American-ness.

b. Say that I'm Indian and sit through the whole FAQ, ("Wait, red dot Indian or Native American? Do you eat curry every night? Do your parents speak English? Will your marriage be arranged?")

c. Say "around here" and fake that I have to go to the bathroom.

I roll the dice with options A-C, depending on how much energy I have that day. But, the truth is? I'm not sure myself some days.

Being a woman of color, people often press you even harder on that "Where are you from?" question. Questions that are often considered harmless can sometimes result in an awkward, stumbling identity crisis. My standard reply of, "California, around the SF… Bay Area," never seems to placate people, because my tan skin, big dark eyes, and thick eyebrows betray me. I don't look like I'm really American to a lot of people (read: sun-kissed, California-beach-blonde beauty), and so the label never quite fits. Add in the fact that my name is "Nikita" and I've truly thrown the audience a plot twist. Is she from here? Is she mixed-race? Is she an alien? Stay tuned to find out!

I've lived in four big cities in under 18 years: Chicago, New Delhi, San Francisco, and New York. New York is now home, and technically because my family is in California, so is San Francisco. It's odd to juggle specific regional identities that pertain to the U.S. only while negotiating the complications of my ethnic and cultural identities as well. Saying I'm from California means something different to people than "American," and saying I'm Indian carries other implications. Plus, the "Indian" identity is an umbrella term for a series of different identities all woven together by a similar overarching cultural thread and a political boundary. India is a vast country with dozens of languages, cuisines, and more — no two Indian experiences can ever neatly intersect.

Perhaps if I were entirely born and raised in America, I'd feel as though I wasn't too Indian to fit under "American" neatly. And, maybe if I didn't spend the better part of my 21 years in America, I'd feel better just saying I am Indian. I love being Indian, but sometimes I don't feel Indian enough, really. I am Indian. I am American. I am Indian-American. Neither there, nor there — but somewhere in between.

I lived in India for the better part of the first 5 years of my life, and once I moved back to the U.S., I immediately felt alien amongst my classmates. With my broken English, my funny accent, and the fact that I had no idea who Pikachu was, I may as well have been from another planet. I was a quick study, though: I laboriously repaired my accent, always making sure to pronounce my Vs and Ws correctly, and never allowing my Rs to linger on my tongue for too long; I watched all the "Blue's Clues" I could get my hands on; I asked my parents to take me to movies, the works. However, despite all my efforts otherwise, I felt culturally inept.

So I stepped up my efforts. I began shirking my Indian-ness and wholly adopting American culture in an attempt to fit in. I spent the better part of my teenage years acting as though my own culture was backwards, primitive, and something worth being ashamed of. I turned up my nose at Indian food, maligned religion, and was just kind of a brat. "I'm like, the whitest Indian girl like, ever," and all that jazz. I tried so desperately to lose all the things that made me different so that I could fall into a dominant narrative that wasn't mine and didn't need to be mine — despite how much the world sometimes made (and still makes) me feel otherwise.

I had made an error in naively assuming that assimilating wholeheartedly would make my life easier, but the truth is: whiteness didn't fit. And somehow, full on Indian-ness didn't either, given that I was (mostly) raised and schooled in America. I didn't feel as though I could relate to either fairly. In retrospect? As much as I desperately wanted one label or the other to fit in an absolutist fashion, they never needed to: it's okay to be who I am, the way I am. I think I fall somewhere in between Indian and American; I am the definition of a hyphenated, hybrid identity.

The truth is, it's okay to feel like you're neither here nor there — we are all shaped by the experiences we've lived through. There is no right way to be Indian, and there is no right way to be American. We're formed by our individual experiences and beliefs, and it's daunting to collapse millions of experiences into one label for a curious stranger (or even yourself!). It is normal to feel confused by your own identity from time to time, to feel like an enigma. Trust me though — as much as the world keeps making you feel like an absolute weirdo, you are not. Learning and knowing that I have a place in this world has been healing; finding people who have shared similar struggles, experiences, and stories has been instrumental. Know that you are not entirely alone, and as you go through life you will encounter your people.

I still don't know how to really answer that dreaded question, though. I'll keep rolling the dice and get back to you.

*Editor's Note: This headline has been adjusted from "Growing Up Indian and American" since its original publish date to reflect that Neelam Gill, the model pictured, is Indian and British.

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